Mail Order Bride Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 16)

by Stacy Henrie

Chapter Four

  “Doc Joe, I swear, that Chinaman better live.”

  If Joe could spare a second, he’d glare at the sheriff. This gunshot had pierced the patient’s left shoulder, broken his clavicle and two ribs.

  And that was the less severe of two bullet wounds.

  The second had struck the young man in the neck. He bled profusely.

  Somewhere, too near the carotid artery, the bullet kept slipping beyond his reach.

  “I’m doing the best I can.” Joe pressed a bandage against the entry wound long enough to slow the torrent of blood, then explored with forceps once more. If his patient would have the slimmest hope of survival, Joe had to remove that bullet, fast.

  “This captive’s got to survive,” Sheriff Lloyd Preston repeated for the third or fourth time, “long enough to question.”

  Railroad switchman or varmint, didn’t matter. This man was a human being— the only reason Joe needed.

  He doubted the sheriff would get one word out of this victim. At this rate, the patient would bleed out before regaining consciousness. He’d lost one cork-soled shoe somewhere between the shooting and the clinic’s door. Its mate hung askew from his narrow foot.

  Too young to die. Innocent or perpetrator, much too young to die.

  Damn, but Joe needed twice as many hands.

  He needed better lighting.

  He needed a fighting chance.

  Sweat ran into his eyes and stung like the dickens. He swiped his sleeve across his forehead as his hands and forearms were smeared with blood.

  The sheriff strode closer, blocking the afternoon sunlight through the south window. “Ain’t that an awful lot of blood, Doc?”

  “Step out of the light, won’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  “Hand me that towel.” Joe gestured with a tip of his head, concentrating on the delicate movement of his forceps… and lost the slippery lead.

  The lawman complied. Joe dried his face and hairline, then tossed the cloth away.

  Less than five seconds passed before a long shadow blocked the strong July sun.

  “Sheriff—” Joe glanced up, irritation immediately squelched by the fine figure of a lady in his doorway, lit from behind.

  Not uncommon to have folks drop by, needing his care. Best he could tell, he’d not met this woman. No lady could tolerate seeing a Chinese man, blue blouse torn open to reveal a naked chest and dual wounds gushing blood.

  No obvious signs of trauma, so she could wait. “It’ll be a while—”

  She dropped a valise and, quick as could be, pulled off her hat and jacket.

  “Might as well come back.” But his direction fell on deaf ears.

  Before he’d finished shooing her, she’d rolled up her sleeves and slipped his spare apron over her head.

  He swallowed hard. “Naomi Fairchild?”

  She pumped water into the sink to scrub her hands. “Yes. I trust you are Doc Joe.”

  Relief as welcome as rain in August washed through him.

  Hallelujah.

  This woman, his midwife bride, somehow ordered the sheriff out of the way with her mere presence. “Put me to work, Doctor.”

  His forceps finally found solid purchase on the slug. He eased the culprit out of the man’s neck to ping in the pan just as he finally got a good look at the face of his bride-to-be.

  Smooth, porcelain skin, eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. Golden-blond hair, thick and wavy, swept up and away from her face, pinned into an arrangement both practical and feminine. Apparently, she thumbed her nose at fashion because she hadn’t cut a fringe of bangs about her forehead that would take time to curl.

  Most important, she hadn’t fainted at the sight of him bloody to his elbows. And she hadn’t run back to the depot. Nor refused to help when she saw a Celestial on the table.

  A confident, competent, down-to-earth woman.

  He liked her already.

  Her eyes, the color of a Wyoming summer sky, held his gaze.

  His bride wasn’t merely lovely. Pretty wasn’t accurate, either.

  He’d never seen a woman, not on the congested streets of Chicago and not in Wyoming, who could hold a candle to her. Attraction seared through him.

  She blinked. “Doctor?”

  “Naomi?” His gut tightened.

  “Doc.” The sheriff thumped him on the shoulder, yanking his attention to the here and now. “Your patient’s bleeding.”

  Palpitations ensued at the sensation of her slender forefinger sliding over his own. He glanced down to find her competent, feminine touch inside the no-longer gushing entrance wound, pinching a nick in the artery.

  Maybe she’d grown up the daughter of a country doctor and learned at his elbow.

  Maybe this midwife knew a great deal about surgery.

  Or, could be, she was a whole lot more than a midwife.

  Elation bubbled within him as he forced his focus onto the damaged vessel, stitching it closed the best he could.

  She dropped a saturated flannel square into the waste basket and picked up another from the tray, knowing when to apply pressure and when to allow him room to work.

  This was all gonna work out fine.

  Once this crisis was over, he’d interview young Naomi Fairchild. If the discussion went well, he’d ask her to marry him.

  He had the minister on notice and the marriage license prepared in case she actually arrived and turned out to be as useful as the telegram implied.

  Within a couple hours, Doc Joe would find himself a married man.

  He couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Five

  Naomi washed dried blood from her hands with more force than necessary.

  She’d failed, spectacularly, and ruined everything.

  Despite her determination to hide her advanced medical training, to meet Joe’s request for a midwife and only a midwife, she’d given herself away in under thirty seconds.

  For what? Her attempt to assist Doc Joe in saving their patient had proved fruitless. The Chinese immigrant had died without regaining consciousness. Joe had gently washed the man’s body of all traces of blood, bagged his clothing and personal effects for the sheriff, and personally carted the man’s sheet-wrapped body to Chinatown on the other side of the tracks.

  Joe’s compassion had been evident throughout.

  She’d been affected so strongly, she’d thrown herself into scrubbing the surgery upon their return to keep from thinking too hard.

  How could she not feel profound respect?

  Doc Joe was so unlike any man she’d known in medicine.

  Disappointment made her ache marrow-deep. She sighed and whisked the scrub brush harder beneath her fingernails. Working here, living here… it could have been so good.

  No sense dwelling on might-have-beens.

  She hadn’t survived years of college and medical training to lose her practicality when she needed it most.

  Now that the situation had passed, and the deceased cared for, Doc Joe would send her on her way. He’d paid her train fare believing her to be a midwife, as she’d confirmed via telegram. She’d accepted his money, arrived, and immediately exposed herself as a liar.

  He’d ask for the train fare he’d spent in good faith. She didn’t have the money.

  If she didn’t spend much on meals, she had enough for train fare as far as Ogden. She’d find work, scrubbing floors if necessary. Eventually, she’d save enough to wire him the funds and repay him in full.

  Maybe she could hang her shingle in town, accept patients, if they’d have her, and if Joe wouldn’t mind her encroaching on his work. She’d have better luck finding a job waiting tables or cleaning the hotel. That might be a wiser plan, given the sorry state of her finances.

  “Dinner’s here.” Doc Joe’s warm, heavy hand settled gently upon her shoulder. “I order meals from the restaurant through the block, and luckily I remembered to tell them there’d be two of us from now on.”

  He squeezed befo
re withdrawing.

  She’d not expected him to feed her before sending her away, but he was uncommonly kind.

  Like antiseptic to a laceration, realizing all she’d lost here, with him, stung. This man might have been her partner in life. The perfect kind of arrangement with a man she could respect, but where love didn’t ruin things.

  “Come.” He handed her a fresh towel to dry her hands. “Let’s eat.”

  “Thank you.” She followed him into the back room where a small dining table and two chairs sat tucked beneath a window overlooking the alley. Light from neighboring windows puddled on the dry, weed-strewn space. Dusk still lit the sky with hues of purple and navy blue. Splendid, to look out a window and see the sky.

  She would have loved Wyoming Territory…

  He emptied a crate onto the table. A crockery jug. A cut-down flour sack contained rolls, and a Dutch oven released steam when he removed the lid.

  Roast beef, baked potatoes, summer vegetables.

  Her mouth watered, and her stomach grumbled.

  Dishes, silverware, and cups came out of the crate too. He made quick work of filling two plates, then poured lemonade from the jug. Setting the crate on the floor, he made room for them to eat comfortably.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Joe offered his hand.

  Her breath caught. The simple gesture looked like…

  Acceptance.

  No one needed it more than she. No one deserved it less.

  Refusing to think about it, she slipped her fingers into his. Warm, large, solid, unfamiliar. So different than Ernest’s.

  He prayed, asking a blessing on their meal, for their lost patient and those who loved him, and on their forthcoming union.

  Just like that.

  Forthcoming union.

  As if it were already agreed upon. It had been, with the exchange of two telegrams. Just enough to agree they would marry. But then she’d arrived, and that plan had dissolved in the immediate need to save a man’s life. Hadn’t it?

  Did Joe realize she’d deceived him, or not?

  He ate, like a man who’d not seen a meal since breakfast. His plate was piled high, with twice the portions Ernie consumed. But Ernie was slight of build, lean, only a few inches taller than she. Doc Joe was broad, thick, heavily muscled. He didn’t look so much like a surgeon as a dock worker. Musculature such as his came by hard work and nothing less.

  Naomi learned long ago to eat when the opportunity presented itself. She’d often missed meals due to rounds at the hospital, new admissions, crisis patients. So she ate, despite her stomach’s rebellion.

  No sense asking him if he’d like her to leave until she’d filled her stomach. She couldn’t afford to pay for a meal like this, not until she secured employment.

  Doc Joe slowed once his meal was nearly consumed. “You did very well today. Far more skilled and knowledgeable than I’d hoped.”

  She blinked, half expecting sarcasm, but his tone matched his complimentary words.

  Next, he’d lecture. Warn her to tread lightly. Remind her who was in charge. Wait for my decision, Naomi. I’m the resident physician. This is my patient.

  She shoved Ernest back into his drawer and turned the key.

  Joe wiped his mouth with a napkin, then sighed as if trying to find the words to tell her they didn’t suit.

  She’d make it easy on him. “It’s all right. No need to spare my feelings.”

  Confusion compounded the weariness etching his features. “My compliment was most sincere. Your skill in surgery is…”

  “More than you wanted.” She slid her chair back, prepared to go.

  He locked a gentle hand around her wrist. Something she couldn’t decipher shone in his hazel eyes. “Everything I wanted.”

  Somehow, she simply couldn’t trust that to be true. He’d think about it and come to distrust her before they had so much as a chance.

  “I have to go.” She tugged free, and he had the courtesy to release her.

  He pushed to his feet but made no move to block her exit. “Why? Where will you go?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Far easier to focus on the deep cleft in his chin than risk meeting his eye. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Wait.” He raised two hands as if to gentle her. “What did I do wrong? What did I say?”

  “Nothing.” He’d done nothing wrong. She was the problem, not him.

  His brows drew together, obviously struggling to understand. “You saw the result of a young man caught in the crossfire. Our patient.” He spoke rapidly. “It’s not safe for you to be out on the streets. Let me walk you to the hotel. Or you stay here and I’ll go.”

  Regret warred with embarrassment, and humiliation came in a close third. Why hadn’t she been honest with him to start with? He’d paid for her travel, and the good man hadn’t mentioned her lies nor demanded she repay him.

  The shakes had taken hold. Surely he saw her trembling.

  Why had her mask of imperturbable woman, entirely in control, deserted her now?

  “I’m a doctor.” The confession tumbled out of her mouth, unguarded, regurgitated with zero self-mastery. “A medical doctor. I graduated valedictorian of my class in ’85.”

  He took a careful, single step closer. “This is not a problem.”

  “You wanted a midwife, not a doctor. I didn’t tell you I’m a doctor.” Now her voice trembled too. He’d think her hysterical and a liar.

  Ernie’s threats of incarceration in a madhouse came rushing back, and all at once, her desperation to remove herself from Doc Joe’s presence became a fight for survival.

  “I know.” He touched her, just a gentle cupping of her elbow, but the contact sizzled as if it’d been a caress.

  “Of course you do.” Self-recrimination returned with the force of a nor'easter.

  “Not your year of graduation, didn’t know you were first in your class— congratulations, by the way.”

  She stared at him, the shakes worsening. Why didn’t he demand his money back, then order her out of his clinic? “I’m sorry.”

  His grip slid down her arm, and he took her hand in the gentlest of holds. “Don’t be.”

  “I should be sorry. I deliberately misled you. You didn’t want a doctor. You wanted a midwife.”

  “Just because I advertised for a midwife doesn’t mean I didn’t hope for something better. Do you have any idea how hard, how long I’ve worked to find anyone willing to move to this corner of the territory to work with me?”

  He slipped his fingers between hers and cradled their joined hands against his broad chest. The pad of his thumb raised tingles where he stroked.

  He leaned a little closer. “I’m thrilled with your performance under pressure. Your skills… You’ll help me save lives. Together, we can make a real difference.”

  “You—” He truly meant what he said. “You don’t care I misled you?”

  His smile, so strong and sure, so handsome— she couldn’t look away. “I’ll repay the train fare, eventually. I’ll honor my debt.”

  His brow quirked, and he shook his head. “You are able to deliver babies?”

  “Yes.”

  “I imagine you can diagnose, treat, suture, set broken bones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fate couldn’t have dealt me a better hand than sending you to me.”

  How could she possibly respond to a statement like that?

  He led her back to her chair. “Please sit. Finish eating before your meal grows cold. If you don’t mind, I have a few more questions.”

  Somehow, after all she’d done, he still wanted to consider a future together. His kindness left her shaken, his smile stole her breath, and the warmth in his eyes almost convinced her to trust him.

  Chapter Six

  Joe needed to comprehend this beautiful, complex creature he had every intention of wedding. She’d been prepared to bolt, and he couldn’t let that happen. He had to make her understand, then he could ask further questions.


  “I need a helpmate— a woman I can trust implicitly. A business partner who’s also my wife, so it’s easy to roust both of us at the same time.” He held her gaze. “I need a woman who thinks clearly in a crisis, who’s more concerned about saving lives, aiding the sick, than newest fashion and gossip about town.”

  She nodded with hesitation.

  “Forgive my bluntness.” He touched her hand. “I need you.”

  She startled. “But you don’t know me. The one key element you advertised for I misled you—”

  “And gave triple the value. You’re a physician.” A grin spread over his face, and he leaned closer. Couldn’t she see his honesty? “I couldn’t be happier.”

  That rendered her speechless.

  Why hadn’t she simply stated the facts in her telegram? He wouldn’t have turned her away. That topic would need to wait until they’d developed much more trust between them.

  “Enough about me. Tell me all about you.”

  As if she removed an apron of insecurities and put on a fresh one representing confidence, her demeanor changed. Apparently, she could handle the business side of their arrangement with ease. He’d have to remember that.

  “I turned thirty years of age last week.”

  Bewilderment socked him in the gut. “Thirty?” He’d seen her features by full daylight. Flawless skin, no lines to speak of. Thick, lustrous hair. Slender, youthful figure.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Honestly, I had you pegged at twenty-five.”

  “I assure you I’m thirty.”

  “From my advertisement, you know I’m thirty, as well. Thirty-one, November first.”

  He gestured with a rolling motion, urging her to continue.

  “I’ve delivered approximately seventy babies. Most with excellent outcomes.”

  Too good to be true: lovely, experienced, and from all he’d seen, knowledgeable. A tad frantic over stretching the truth in her telegram, but that only spoke of her innate honesty, right?

  It seemed she had nothing further to offer, so he’d need to ask a direct question. Asking about her marital situation was awkward without first disclosing his past. “I’ve never married. Medical school was my entire focus for so long I never had time for courting or marriage. What about you? Have you been married?”